


Chris and the Giant Package

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:33:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach thinks that Chris is extremely difficult to buy gifts for. This Christmas he comes up with something especially creative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chris and the Giant Package

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1lostone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/gifts).



> Written as a gift for 1lostone for this year's trekrpfexchange on LiveJournal. Her original prompt was: _Pinto: What do you get for the man who has everything?_ Thanks to starsandgraces for her beta work and help with the title, and to verizonhorizon and screamlet for helping me come up with the concept.

"Tell me what else you miss about me."

 _Christ almighty_ , Chris thinks. He's writhing around on the bed, one hand fumbling with the volume on his phone—thank god for speakerphone, honestly—and the other pumping his cock toward an intense orgasm, and Zach wants him to keep talking? It's bad enough that he's taunting Chris with his stupid, silky voice from thousands of miles away; asking Chris to form coherent sentences is just adding insult to injury.

"Your—your chest hair. I miss that, too," he gasps out.

Zach tsks at him. "You already said that. Something new. Tell me what you're really thinking about, Chris."

"Are you even jacking off? You sound way too—way too normal..."

"I am, I promise," Zach says, and okay, he does sound a little breathy. "Totally getting off on how desperate and needy you sound right now, I assure you. Now tell me what you're thinking about."

Chris groans and smushes his face into his pillow, squeezing at the base of his cock. "S'too weird to say."

" _Chris_..."

"Ugh, _fine_. Your balls, okay? I'm thinking about your balls and..."

"And?" Zach cajoles, the fucker.

" _And_...putting them in my mouth, okay?"

"Oh, shit." Zach laughs, joyful and lusty, and it makes Chris work his hand even faster on his cock. "You do like that, don't you?"

"Yeah, _yes_ , I—fuck, can't talk anymore, Zach, can't..."

"Yeah, no, okay, come on."

And with that, they both get down to business. Chris listens intently to Zach's heavy breathing on the other end of the line, stroking himself to the point that it nearly chafes—thank god once again, this time for lube. He comes first, as he usually does, imagining the heavy weight of Zach's cock and balls in and around his mouth; fond memories of Zach's face in the throes of pleasure as Chris peers up from his position on the floor, between Zach's knees. He shoots messily over his thighs and the hotel bed, and he'll have to tell the room service woman that she looks extra pretty tomorrow and leave a bigger tip, but it's so fucking worth it. Moments later, there's a telltale groan from the speakerphone, informing Chris that Zach is also through. They both keep quiet for a while, catching their breath. Chris curls up on the mattress and cradles his phone in his hands, as if it's an extension of Zach lying on the bed beside him.

"Man, fuck your passion for theater," he murmurs.

"I know. I _know_." Zach laughs faintly. "I said no to the second extension for a reason, remember? And you're in Vancouver anyway, and—"

"I'll be back home soon," Chris grumbles. "And you won't. Not even for Christmas."

Zach sighs. "Chris, you know I always spend the holiday in Pittsburgh with my family."

"Yeah, the Burgh. I know. I just thought maybe this year..." _You've been gone so long, you might want to come spend it with me._ Chris scrubs a hand over his face and exhales. "I just miss you," he says. Which is really dumb, considering that he just spent the better part of fifteen minutes saying exactly that and going into specific detail about which parts of Zach he missed most, starting with his dreamy brown eyes and ending on his fuzzy fucking ball sack.

Luckily, Zach is kind and doesn't point that out. "I miss you, too," he says, simply. And it really sounds like he means it. "I promise it'll be February before you know it."

"Yeah, yeah. Times flies when you're suffering for your craft." Chris smiles and stifles a yawn, reaching to the bedside table for a tissue, so he can clean himself off. "I just miss the sight of your sexy body in my bedroom. That shit never gets old."

"That's terribly romantic," Zach says. Chris can hear him both rolling his eyes and smiling on the other end. "I promise my sexy body will be back in your bedroom soon, ready for your wandering hands."

"Better be," Chris says. He yawns again, unable to hide it this time.

"You sound exhausted. And I know you have a big day tomorrow. So go to bed, Wonder Bread."

Chris laughs at the sappy inside joke, throwing his dirty tissue away. "And you have a big day of emotionally grueling stage drama. So rest your eyes, Hairy Thighs."

"I will if you do." Zach presses a kiss to his phone's receiver and Chris feels a swell of great, big love for his sappy, sickening boyfriend who's so very far away. "I'll call you again soon, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Z."

"Love you, too, Chris. Goodnight."

"'Night," Chris murmurs. He hangs up and turns off the bedside lamp, then wraps his arms around the ridiculously large hotel pillow, as if it's any substitute for Zach's warm body.

*

It's a few days before Christmas when Chris wakes up in his own bed, panicked by the sound of his doorbell ringing over and over and over. He hustles to get up and finds a wrinkled T-shirt to throw on so he isn't just answering the door in his boxer shorts. Very important, as the paparazzi seem to possess an uncanny sixth sense about when Chris is walking around shirtless and when he's not.

He's less than impressed by the sight of a UPS guy standing at his front door, holding out a stylus to him.

"Package," the dude says flatly. "Signature required."

"Right." Chris signs the electronic scanner thing and hands the stylus back. "Where is it?"

And then the guy produces a massive box, covered in packing tape and crazy scribbling that Chris knows for sure is the work of one Zachary John Quinto. It's bulky and oversized and Chris finds himself struggling to balance it in his arms as he takes it from the delivery man. He holds the door open with his toes and nods gratefully.

"Thanks, man."

"Big package," the guy says, looking him up and down.

"Uh...yeah." Chris quirks a brow and hurries to get back inside.

The package—the one from Zach, not his own—isn't just big, it's massive. Chris sets it down in his bedroom, leaning it against the side of the bed, and marvels at the size of it for a moment. It's got to be his Christmas present from Zach, whatever it is. He sent his own off to Zach the other day: some fancy food processor blendy thing that Zach's been talking about for months, not so subtly dropping hints every chance he gets. Chris has received exactly zero shrieky phone calls and/or messages, so he assumes the magic blender hasn't yet arrived. He grabs a pair of scissors from his desk drawer and starts hacking at the tape, until he gets the box open. Even then, whatever's hiding inside is wrapped in even more packaging: thick layers of bubble wrap and even more tape. Zach must have used up an entire roll.

There's also a note stuck to the front: _Skype me before you open!_ it reads. Chris considers this and then goes to check his phone to see if Zach's performance has started yet. Zach made him start a Google calendar before he left for New York, so they could share their schedules with each other. It's a little weird, practically knowing when Zach is taking a leak and vice versa, but he has to admit that it's useful in situations like this. Zach should still be at home, so Chris texts him and then grabs his laptop to open Skype. It's a little futuristic for Chris' tastes, but Zach loves using it. Chris has had to insist that they do all phone sex without it, because it's just too awkward, trying to hold up the phone and jack off at the same time. Also, he dropped his phone the first time they tried it and cracked the screen. Not fun.

Once everything is connected and Zach's face appears on his screen, Chris can't help but smile. Zach looks like...well, like a kid on Christmas morning.

"You got it!" he exclaims. "Oh, my god. I'm so excited. I'm so nervous! Oh, and I have your gift here, too. I didn't open it yet."

Chris laughs and folds his legs beneath him, waving a hand. "Well, what are you waiting for? Open it before you explode."

Zach doesn't need to be told twice. He attacks the ugly gift wrapping for which Chris paid extra, and when he peels it all back and reveals the blendy processor thing, he squeals. Actually _squeals_.

"Oh, my goooood! I've wanted one of these for months, Chris! How did you know?"

"How did I _know_?" He snorts and shakes his head. "Lucky guess, man. I'm so glad you like it."

Chris watches Zach marvel over the thing, as if he couldn't afford to buy it on his own, which of course, he can. But Zach is like that, always talking about things he would like to have but never actually buying them, claiming that it's not "sensible." Chris doesn't get what he means, considering that, hello, they're movie stars, but it doesn't really matter if getting it for Zach means putting a huge smile on his face.

"Like it? I love it. If I were there, you'd be getting the best blowjob ever right now."

Chris sighs and bites his tongue, not wanting to start another dead-end conversation about how they _could_ be together, if Zach would only etcetera, etcetera. "That would be nice," he says.

"You've got an official I.O.U. Okay?" Zach blows him a kiss and Chris laughs, looking down shyly. It's always hard to stay mad at Zach.

"Yeah, okay. So, what now? My turn?"

"Yes. But!" Zach puts his gift down and holds out his hands to the camera, effectively stopping Chris in his tracks as he reaches down for the oversized package, still swaddled in bubble wrap. "There's some background information regarding this gift."

Chris smirks. "Background information? Does it have a C.V. I need to peruse?"

"Don't be silly. It's just..." Zach looks up at the ceiling, as if searching for the right words. He cringes when they don't seem to come to him. "I'm just worried you won't like it."

" _Zach_. I'll like anything you get me because you got it. Like I always tell you: I don't even need gifts. But I know it's the thought that counts, so whatever you get me is awesome. I'm easy."

Zach shifts closer to the camera. "No, that's the thing: You _think_ you're easy, but you're actually the most difficult person to buy for in the _world_." Zach looks pretty incensed all of a sudden, and then he starts with the gesturing, and Chris knows immediately that this is going to take some time to get through. "Because you're, like, Mr. Instant Gratification. You see something you like and you buy it. You need something; you go out and find it. There isn't anything that you could possibly want or need because you already have it. You're, like, the man who has everything!"

"Dude," Chris says, shaking his head in amusement. "Don't you think you're exaggerating, just a bit?"

"No." Zach huffs at him. "Remember when we talked after Thanksgiving and I asked you what you wanted for Christmas and you said you needed to think about it? And then I asked you again two weeks ago, and you gave me the same answer. And then you never got back to me like you said you would because there isn't a single thing on Earth that you actually desire!"

 _That's where you're wrong_ , Chris thinks immediately. But he doesn't want to say that, not exactly, so he tries to think of a better way to phrase it.

"Well...maybe you're right, in a way," he says, shrugging. "I couldn't think of anything physical that I wanted. But I'm not a material guy. The things I want the most aren't always tangible."

"Oh, baby," Zach says, his face suddenly awash in empathy. "I know that. I do. And I thought about that when I was trying to figure out what to get you. So then I talked to Zoe about it and—"

"You talked to Zoe?" A red flag goes up immediately in Chris' head. Nothing good ever comes of getting the others involved in their relationship. Ever.

"Yeah! And I kind of explained how you and I were both feeling, how the long-distance thing was starting to get tough...and then I told her that I had no clue what to get you for Christmas and she gave me this idea that really..." Zach trails off, getting too excited by the anticipation of the moment. He starts gesturing for Chris to grab the package. "Well, just open it and you'll see. Open it, open it!"

Chris shakes his head and laughs, though he still has a bad feeling about what's about to happen. "So, you're saying you want me to open it?" he teases, reaching down for the package and hauling it up onto the bed.

"Shut up! Yes." Zach watches intently as Chris starts cutting at the bubble wrap and tape with his scissors, his fingers curled over his chin as if something terribly exciting is coming—or maybe just something terrible. "Oh, god," he mutters. "What if you hate it? You're going to hate it."

"I told you; whatever it is, I'll love it."

"But what if you don't—okay, I'll be quiet." He bites his lip and falls silent for all of three seconds. "But what if it—"

" _Zachary_ ," Chris hisses. "You're making me nervous. If you don't stop, I'm going to accidentally stab myself in the hand."

"Okay, okay, sorry."

Zach does finally shut up, but he looks like he's about to pass a gallstone as Chris starts to make headway on the bubble wrap. Chris smirks at him again as he rips a strand of tape from the package, and then it starts to reveal itself, it's a—wow, it's a painting. "You bought me art?" he asks, amazed by the idea that Zach would spend that kind of money on him. But then the plastic comes off completely, and...well.

It's a painting of Zach. A _nude_ painting. Of _Zach_.

Chris' mouth falls open just before he realizes the laptop camera is still on him. Then he freezes like a baby deer caught in the middle of a blizzard on a busy road, about to get plowed by an eighteen-wheeler.

"Oh, god," he hears Zach croak from the laptop's speakers. "You really do hate it."

"Hate it? No, I just—I'm just surprised! Like, really surprised. This is...wow." Chris tries to maintain an extremely nonchalant expression as he takes a critical look at the portrait, which depicts Zach wearing his birthday suit, lounging on a velvety sofa, a very come-hither look in his eyes. It's not exactly X-rated, as his junk isn't visible, but there's plenty of chest and arm fur, and a coy smile on his face, and...okay, yeah, it's kind of weird. It's beyond weird. It's cheesy and awkward and altogether discomfiting. It is—in a word—horrific. Chris blinks rapidly and looks back at the camera. "You had this made?"

"Yeah, Zoe knows this woman. A painter. She specializes in erotic portraits."

 _Of course she does_ , Chris thinks. "Well, um, she's talented. It really looks like you."

"You don't seem too excited about it," Zach says. He sighs and scratches the back of his head, two seconds away from a look of total dejection. "I thought it'd be a good gift because, well...it _is_ hard being away from each other. And I remembered what you said about missing my, um...my 'sexy body' in your bedroom," he says, lifting his fingers for air quotes and blushing at the memory. "And since there's no way I can be there right now, I thought this would be the next best thing."

"That...that's really fucking sweet, man." Chris feels his insides turn to goo as he watches Zach, who is goddamn adorable and so sincere—and actually blushing, come _on_ —that he feels like an absolute asshole for thinking the portrait was anything less than ridiculously awesome and romantic. He holds the edges of the laptop, as if he's cupping Zach's face in his palms, and smiles broadly to him. "Honestly, Zach, this is the most thoughtful gift that I've ever received, like...ever. Thank you."

"Really?" Zach smiles back at him tentatively, and as his eyebrows lift, Chris can see the gloom melting away. "So you like it, then?"

"I love it. How could I not? It's _you_." Chris gestures to the painting and glances at it again. The half-lidded brown eyes on the canvas seem to gaze back at him reverently and he feels himself twitch in response. "It's amazing. I'm totally going to hang it up over my bed." _What?! No, why would you say that? Abort mission! Abort!_

Zach grins at him. "Really? I can't wait to see it!" he says, rubbing his hands excitedly.

Chris nods and avoids looking at the painting again. It feels like it's staring even more intently at him now, almost demanding his attention. Like it wants to steal and gnaw upon his mortal soul. He puts on a big ol' smile.

"I can't wait to show you!"

*

Chris studiously spends the next day not looking at the painting. He's so busy not looking at it that he ends up being extra-productive; he cleans out his fridge, scrubs his bathtub, and sorts through his closet. By the time he ends up with two large bags of clothes for Goodwill and an overflowing garbage can, it strikes him that he's practicing some extreme avoidance. And said avoidance is an exercise in futility, considering that Zach is going to come back to L.A. at some point and expect to see that goddamn painting on the wall. Hell, he's probably going to Skype before then—annoying, good-for-nothing Skype, totally ruining Chris' life—and will expect to see it on the wall.

So Chris needs to hang that stupid thing on the wall.

He hasn't looked at the portrait since he ended his conversation with Zach, during which he somehow made a convincing case for loving it. Really, he should be annoyed with Zach for putting him on the spot—sending Chris a present like _that_ and then insisting on watching as he opened it, robbing Chris of the opportunity to privately gape and screech and cry over the eternal loss of his boner. He's also annoyed with Zoe for suggesting the idea of an "erotic portrait" to Zach in the first place. Chris imagines that she's currently laughing her ass off just thinking about it. He'd scratch her right off his holiday card list if he hadn't already sent them out.

Chris retrieves the painting from where it's propped against the wall in his bedroom, painted side facing away, and sets it on his mattress. He sits and studies it for a while, taking it all in: the pale curvature of Zach's muscular body, the generous rendering of body hair, the jewel tones of the backdrop. And then the face, with that sultry gaze and sensuous half-smirk that's so very Zach. It's kind of an uncanny likeness. The artist is good at what she does.

"It's not so bad," Chris muses aloud, tilting his head. "It's kind of hot. It's good. I like it."

He nods to himself and goes to fetch his toolbox, reassured and content with the situation at last.

Then he hangs the painting.

"Oh, god," he says into his palm, staring at it from the foot of the bed. "It's _awful_."

In fact, it's downright imposing up there on the stark white wall, taking up a ton of space and overwhelming the entire room. Naked Zach peers at him from his perch on the velvet couch, all wanton and exposed, and Chris can swear that the eyes are actually following him as he moves around the room and looks at it from all angles. It's like the _Mona Lisa_ , only...creepier. And hairier. And, oh yes, creepier. Mona Quinto.

 _Jeans_ , he thinks. _I could have asked for jeans. Or a toaster. I could use a new toaster, actually. Fuck._

Just then, his phone beeps with a new text message. And it happens to be from Zoe, a.k.a. The Worst Person in the World.

 _Merry early Xmas, baby!!_ it reads. _Heard u got ur gift...what do u think?!_

He deletes his first three responses after he types them, each one more colorful in language and closer to verbal abuse than the last. Finally, he settles on a reply and hits send: _This is your revenge for that time I got drunk and macked on Keith, isn't it?_

The reply comes a minute later. _U know it. Enjooooy. Oh and btw, I told Karl._

"You _what_?!" Chris exclaims as he reads the text. But then his freak-out is interrupted by a call from said Kiwi. Chris groans and accepts the call, knowing he's doomed. "Hello?"

"Please come over and let me see this thing," Karl says. " _Please_."

"Merry fucking Christmas to you, too, asswipe. Shouldn't you be in New Zealand with your family or something?"

"They're here. I'm in town doing work up until the holiday. Seriously, mate, _please_ let me see it? It sounds brilliant. And by brilliant, I mean awful. Oh, yeah, and happy Christmas."

Chris frowns and sits on the bed. "You don't seem to understand the gravity of the situation. This is not a laughing matter; it's a real problem. Zach gave this to me in all seriousness and I have to keep it. Forever."

"Well, or until you break up," Karl offers.

"You're suggesting that I break up with Zach for the sole purpose of getting rid of this thing?"

"I guess it depends on how bad it is." Karl makes a slurping sound and Chris can only assume he's sitting in his car, probably sucking down the last of a shake from In-N-Out. Karl loves that shit. "So can I see it, or what?" he asks again.

Chris sighs and flops back on the bed in defeat. "You can come tomorrow. But _don't_ bring John. I don't need him to know about this; he'll never let me hear the end of it."

"Got it, no Cho," Karl replies dutifully. Then he sniggers. "Though I bet he'd have some fantastic things to say about—"

"I mean it, Urban! Do. Not. Bring. John."

Karl makes a huffy sound. "All right already, jeez. I won't bring John, okay?"

*

The next afternoon, Karl and John fucking Cho are standing in Chris' bedroom, staring up at the portrait of Zach with their arms folded across their chests and their chins cupped in their palms.

"Yeeeeeah," John drawls after a prolonged silence. "You need to _burn_ that thing, is what you need to do."

"Find one of those giant slingshots and send it off to the moon," Karl agrees. Chris glares at him from the other side of the room, wondering if he can punch Karl hard enough in the chest to actually rip through his skin and pull out his beating heart.

Karl did bring him a milkshake, though. Chris sips at it moodily and switches his focus to his own quick, merciful death in the face of this heinous embarrassment. "You guys suck," he mumbles around the tip of the straw, leaning back against the wall in defeat.

"No, for real," John says, shaking his head. "I'd go so far as to suggest that we burn this entire place down and just start the fuck over. The whole place is tainted now. Here, I've got some matches. You have homeowner's insurance, don't you?"

Chris watches in horror as John pulls a matchbook out of his jacket pocket, grateful for the fact that Karl is close enough to stop him from actually lighting one. This is exactly why Chris didn't want John to come over; he gets _ideas_.

"Fuck you, you fucking pyromaniac," Chris says, scrambling to his feet. "I need _real_ advice. This thing is here, borne from Zach's misguided notions of romantic love. It's _in my life_. Now, both of you put your big boy pants on for a second and tell me: What am I supposed to do? Seriously, now."

John puts the matchbook away and sighs. "Chris, I hate to break it to you, but I _am_ being serious. That painting may look like Zach, but it's not a good painting. It's not even sexy. I mean, I've had my share of homosexual encounters in the past," he says, and that gets him a distinct side-eye from Karl. "I'm not a perfect zero on the Kinsey scale. And I'm comfortable enough with myself to admit that, in certain lights, Zach can be a really attractive guy."

"When he gets all growly-like," Karl adds. He makes a forward curling motion with his hand like it's a paw and then freezes when Chris peers at him, bewildered. "You know what I mean."

"We know, yes," John says. He hooks a thumb over at the painting. "Which is why it's unfortunate that he thinks this is an accurate representation of his sex appeal. It's the exact opposite." He takes a breath, placing his hands on his hips. "So in the interest of sparing his feelings, I say burn the place down. Tell him it was a grease fire."

"Or you could tell him the truth," Karl muses. "That it's heinous and you can't bear to keep it if he ever wants to have sex with you again. Sex that doesn't devolve into wild cackling, that is."

They all ponder this for a few moments. Then Chris groans, putting his drink down on the nightstand. "I'm fucked," he announces, falling face first onto the bed. The others sit on the mattress and reach out to rub his back soothingly, which is nice. At least they're on Chris' side.

"Okay, well, let's look at this from a different perspective," Karl suggests. "Maybe we're completely wrong and it's not bad at all. I know fuck all about art, really."

"Maybe." John peers up at the painting again and grimaces. "Dude, what did you even say to Keith to provoke the wrath of Saldana?"

"I dunno," Chris mumbles into his forearm. "Something about how Zoe wasn't man enough for him or something." Karl bursts out laughing and Chris huffs. "I was _drunk_ , okay?"

"You must have been, because Zoe's more man than any of us," John says.

"Definitely more man than you," Karl says to him. They smirk at each other, exchanging a lingering look, and Chris groans anew.

"I can't believe I'm having a fucking meltdown and you two are flirting with each other. In my bedroom, underneath a nude portrait of my boyfriend."

"Not flirting," Karl mutters.

"What did you expect?" John asks.

"Ugh. Get out of here, both of you, before I have an aneurysm."

"Whatever, Pine. Just throw a towel over it." Karl claps Chris on the back and stands, nudging John to do the same. "I can't look at that thing any longer. Let's go get a drink."

Chris lifts his head and blinks in surprise. A fucking _towel_. How had he never thought of that?

"Shut up," he says, scrambling off the bed to follow them. "And you were _so_ flirting, asshole!"

*

It turns out that it's as easy as that. Chris takes the time that very night to fasten a hunter green towel to the wall above the portrait, so that it drapes over the canvas and obscures it completely. It's not the greatest solution, considering that he'll have to remove the towel whenever Zach comes over to visit—which will be often, once _Angels_ is over and he moves back to L.A. for good—but it keeps the thing out of view for the time being, and outside of telling Zach he hates it and breaking his heart, this is definitely Chris' most viable option.

When Chris leaves his apartment on Christmas Eve for dinner at his parents' house, he casts a quick glance over at the green sheath of terrycloth covering the portrait. And yeah, he feels a little guilty, knowing what it's covering up, but it's nothing he can't push away with a bit of mental willpower.

He's definitely surprised, however, when he comes home that night and sees the portrait in all its naked glory, uncovered, the towel nowhere in sight.

"Jesus!" he gasps, clutching a hand to his chest and looking around wildly, barely able to think because the towel is gone and that means someone else is _in the apartment_. Also, he's had a few glasses of wine. His aunt Rita dropped him off. "Who's there? Who's—"

"Christopher," Zach says, appearing in the doorway behind him, looking pretty fucking steamed. Wait, _Zach_?

"HOLY—" And this time, Chris nearly falls over, knocking into a wall instead. The pissy look on Zach's face shifts to mild concern, then an all-out cringe as he watches Chris flail around. Zach reaches out to steady him and Chris grabs his elbows, looking at him in alarm. "You—Jesus, you scared me, Zach! What are you doing here?!"

"You gave me a key," Zach says. His mouth is twisted unhappily and between that and the missing towel, Chris realizes that he has some serious damage control to do. "Or do you not remember?"

"Of course I do! I mean...you're supposed to be in New York! Or...no, Pittsburgh! What happened to Pittsburgh?"

Zach pries his arms away from Chris and exhales, folding his arms over his chest and tucking his hands under his armpits. "I lied. I spent a small fortune on a last-minute flight because I wanted to surprise you. I probably owe my mom a new car for Christmas to make up for it, but...yeah."

 _Well, damn_ , Chris thinks. He takes some time to look Zach up and down—much thinner than he looks in the little Skype window, now that he's actually here in person. They haven't been in the same room together for months and now that they are, Zach looks like he's caught between warring desires to punch Chris in the head and start bawling. All because of that fucking painting. And that is just no good because all Chris wants to do is scoop Zach into his arms and press his face into his airplane-greasy hair and hump his skinny body into the plaster of the wall.

Chris sighs. Not only is he never going to flirt with Keith again; he's planning on not even looking in his general direction.

"Zach," he says, trying to piece his thoughts together. "About the painting."

"What about it?" Zach asks defensively. "Why didn't you just tell me you didn't like it?"

"I _do_ like it! It's just—"

"Oh, sure. Then why did I come here and find a fucking towel hanging over it?" He gestures angrily toward the floor and Chris' eyes flit to a hunter green heap by the bed. Huh, there it is. "You love it so much that you can't bear to look at it? Is that how you're going to spin it?"

Chris runs his hands through his hair and winces. "I just didn't want to disappoint you, Zach. You were so excited about it and... I mean, it's a really beautiful painting and I'm totally an asshole for thinking anything else, I—"

"Oh, fuck the painting," Zach snarls. He walks past Chris, toward the bed, and sits on the edge. "It's horrible, I know. I just wish you would have said something."

Chris opens his mouth, ready to berate himself as much as he needs to in order to get Zach to forgive him. But Zach's words derail his thoughts swiftly. "I—wait. Horrible? I thought... Okay, it's possible that I've imbibed too much wine tonight to follow this properly, but I'm confused."

"Pine family Christmas," Zach mutters. "I would be surprised if you hadn't." Chris swears he can see a teensy hint of a wry smile tugging at the corner of Zach's mouth, and he takes that as his cue to go over there and sit beside him.

"It's kind of how we roll," he says. "So, um...yeah. While I don't want to tell you how to feel or what to think, I was, like, ninety-nine percent positive until ten seconds ago that you absolutely loved that painting."

Zach sighs and looks up at him. "Well, I thought I did. And believe me, when I first walked in here and saw it covered with a _towel_ , I was all set to go medieval on your ass. All excitement and good cheer right out the fucking window. But then I ripped the towel off and had a good look at it hanging up there, right above your pillows, and I couldn't... I still can't believe what a total _nightmare_ it is."

"Nightmare?" Chris repeats, dumbstruck.

"Well, yeah! I mean, look at it; it's a fucking eyesore! I'm shocked that you were brave enough to even put it up there in the first place. I can hardly blame you for throwing a towel over it." Zach shudders, rubbing his biceps and looking back at the canvas warily. "Even now, I can't shake the feeling that it's looking at me."

Chris purses his lips. "Trying to steal your soul."

"Yes!" Zach agrees, nodding vigorously.

"But..." Chris squints, still unsure what's changed here. "You liked it before, didn't you?" he asks. Zach shrugs at him.

"I think I convinced myself to like it. I mean, my skin was crawling the entire time the woman painted me. But she was so pleased with the results that I guess I also got excited about it...and I just had _no idea_ what else to get you, so I threw all my enthusiasm behind this." Zach hugs himself again, offering Chris a half-smile. "So don't worry; I'm not even angry at you anymore."

"Then what's wrong?" Chris asks, touching Zach's wrist. "You're embarrassed?"

Zach laughs sharply. "More like mortified. I can't believe I _sent_ that thing to you." He groans, tipping his head against Chris' shoulder. "Through fucking UPS, even." Chris smirks and takes the opportunity to wrap his arms snugly around Zach's body, rubbing across his shoulder blades. This is definitely more like it.

"At least you had a required signature," he says. Zach snorts, which makes Chris smile. "Don't beat yourself up about it. It's not as bad as you think. Plus, I'm still the one who's in the wrong for not being honest with you."

"Like you were really going to say, 'Hey, thanks for the completely hideous rendering of your naked body, Zach. Can't wait to shove it under a floorboard and ignore it forever.'"

"Okay, I won't deny that it was an awkward situation." Chris kisses Zach's cheekbone and shakes his head. "You shouldn't put so much emphasis on gifts, you know. Remember how I was all, 'I miss you' and 'Why can't you come back for Christmas?'"

"'The things I want the most aren't always tangible,'" Zach intones, using his worst Chris Pine impersonation. It makes Chris laugh, as always.

" _Exactly_." He motions between them. "Seriously, Z. This, right here? You and me together? Is totally all I wanted for Christmas."

Zach bites his lip and lets that sink in for a few moments. Then he leans in and kisses Chris sweetly, a firm press of lips that sends an electric shock right down to Chris' toes. When Zach finally pulls back, though, he still has that hangdog expression on his face.

"I hate you for being so sweet and romantic when I'm such a grade-A idiot."

Chris nods solemnly. "I know. I'm the worst. Seriously, I'm such a douche bag, wanting to be near you and shit. Someone should kick my ass up and down the street."

"You can make it up to me," Zach suggests. He grins when Chris lifts an inquisitive brow and passes his hand between Chris' legs. "By letting me cash in on my I.O.U.?"

"I think—" Chris says, which is inaccurate, because now that Zach's hand is on his crotch, he's no longer thinking at all. At least not in any meaningful fashion. Fuck, but that's good. "I think I would be the one cashing in?"

"Depends," Zach says.

Chris wants to ask, _On what?_ but then his back hits the mattress before he can say or do anything at all, his shoes, socks, and jeans getting shucked off quickly by expert hands. Zach crawls between his legs and leans down to nuzzle at his cotton-covered groin, nosing all along the fabric of his boxer briefs. It's been so long since someone has touched Chris there, let alone breathed all over him, and he lets out a gasping moan that sets Zach to kneading his thighs and nuzzling his balls.

"Fuck, baby, you smell so good," Zach whispers. "So fucking good. I missed this. You were right; this is totally the best present ever. Just this, right here, you and me."

 _Oh, dear god, what is with the_ talking, _just do it already_ , Chris thinks. "Zach, p-please—" he starts to say, tipping his head back in pleasure.

Then he opens his eyes and sees that fucking painting. And jerks so hard in surprise that he nearly breaks Zach's face.

"What the fuck?!" Zach asks, rubbing at his nose.

"The painting," Chris says, sitting up. "We gotta get rid of it."

"Shit, you're right. I'd totally forgotten." Zach grunts as he shifts to a standing position on the bed. He grabs the canvas and yanks it off the wall, then tosses it to the side, letting out a sigh of relief when it lands face down. "There. Be gone, foul sight."

Chris smirks and sits up, grabbing Zach by the hips and working on his jeans next, tugging them away from his narrow hips, along with his briefs. "It wasn't so foul," he says. "Though again, very silly of you to think it could serve as any kind of replacement for this." And fuck nuzzling—Chris does exactly what he's been fantasizing about, at last, leaning up and sucking one of Zach's balls into his mouth, tonguing the sensitive skin until Zach is scratching the walls.

"Chris, _fuck_ ," Zach gasps. He lets Chris move onto the next one and linger there for a while before pulling him off and moving his head into the proper position for pushing his cock right into Chris' open mouth. Chris sucks eagerly, almost hungrily, desperate for the frantic sex that he's wanted ever since he laid eyes on Zach standing in the doorway of his bedroom. Well, after he got over the near-heart attack, that is.

It's not long before Chris is pulling Zach back down to the bed. Zach laughs as he bounces on the mattress and they make quick work of the rest of their clothes, tangling their limbs as they kiss and rut and moan for more. They wrestle for position at first, until Chris has Zach on his back with his leg hitched over Chris' hip, their cocks sliding against each other slickly.

"Wha—what about your I.O.U.?" Zach asks breathlessly.

"Rain check," Chris answers. He kisses Zach messily. "Need to fuck you."

"Condom, then. Come on, come on..."

Chris does as he's told, all too content to put the first condom on his dick in months, and to sink a lubed finger into Zach's hole, fairly tight after all this time. He opens up quickly though, rocking back onto Chris' hand with a litany of gasps and grunts that makes Chris wonder if Zach is going to be the one to come first this time. Soon, it's too difficult to simply sit back and watch. Chris shifts into position with Zach's nod-nod-nod of permission, sliding home with a noise that sounds a lot like a wounded animal. It's just so _good_ , so hot and so perfect, _home_ , and Chris has never exactly thought of home as a place to fuck into over and over again, but there it is. Their mouths collide as they move, then part to roam across cheeks and jaws and throats, only to find each other again in the end, when everything is so perfect and Chris is so close that it feels like the air might shatter around him.

Chris comes first after all. He doesn't even fucking care. He's still got enough energy to kiss and jack Zach into a blazing orgasm, to watch as Zach shudders and shouts his head off, shooting his release between their bodies. Then Chris collapses against Zach, all energy immediately zapped. Despite the fact that Zach has already endured a three-hour matinee performance, a six-hour flight, and an emotional evening topped with frenzied make-up sex, he's the one that cleans them up with the tissues by the bed, steers them under the covers, and turns off the light. Chris turns and burrows firmly against him.

Yeah, this is exactly what he wanted.

"Merry Christmas, Wonder Bread," Zach whispers, kissing him softly. "I have to head back tomorrow night but we'll get rid of the painting for good before I go. I promise."

"How do you propose we do that?"

Zach smirks and shrugs. "I dunno. Viking funeral?"

"We could send it to Karl," Chris drawls. "Or John."

"Are you kidding? I would hide under the bed forever if either of them ever saw it."

"Oh, right, never mind," Chris says, already wondering how to buy their collective silence. He shakes it off quickly and kisses Zach again. "Don't think about it now. Was a long day today, so rest your eyes, Hairy Thighs." He reaches down and rubs Zach's thigh for good measure, just because he can. "And merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Zach says again, yawning and shutting his eyes. Chris watches him for a few moments, transfixed by the very sight of him, the gorgeous face and body that a mere painting could never hope to truly reproduce.

 _Even so_ , Chris thinks as he falls asleep, _I'm totally keeping that thing._


End file.
